


In Loco Parentis

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Barebacking, Come Eating, Daddy Kink, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fights, Hand Jobs, Impala, In Public, Kink Discovery, M/M, Rimming, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Underage Sex, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sam, are you,” Dean pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a second because his brain just doesn’t want to catch up.</p><p>“Are you jerking off and thinking about <i>Dad</i>?”</p><p>(Sam is 15).</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Loco Parentis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fiercelynormal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiercelynormal/gifts).



> Charity fic for the lovely, incomparable, saintly patient fiercelynormal, who waited far too long for this fic. I hope it was worth the wait, love!
> 
> Thanks to my wifey verucasalt123 for the speedy beta read!

Dad’s snoring in the back seat when Sam flips on the radio.

 

Pennsylvania had started rust-belting its way into Ohio about an hour back, the road flying beneath them while everything looks sun-bleached and sad. This part of the country has a willful refusal to just collapse, like the photos of once-young grandparents you find in people’s houses.

 

They don’t have any pictures like that.

 

Dean glances in the rear view at Dad. He’s stopped wondering how Dad can manage to look pissed off even when he’s sleeping.  Now Dean’s just happy to see his mouth slack under two-day stubble and half a fifth of Beam. 

 

He hasn’t touched his brother in a week.

 

Sam lands on some local top 100 station. The DJ has one of those radio announcer voices with no accent, the sort of voice you only hear on the street in Connecticut.  Dean likes the local flavor better but Sam pauses on the dial, snorting at the bouncy R&B song.

 

_You need to give it up, had about enough…_

This goddamn song is always on the radio and it always, always makes Sam catch his eye.

 

_The boy is mine._

 

One more quick glance in the rear view and Dean closes his hand over Sam’s, where his delicate fingers are resting on the radio.

 

Where Dad could see.

 

Dean rubs the pads of his fingers in little circles over Sam’s skin, intimate but easy to snatch back.  Even this stolen touch makes him tingle, body aching for the soft warmth of Sam pressed against him.

 

Seriously, fuck poltergeists.

 

It hadn’t even been a satisfying hunt, just lots of research and Dad looking grumpy as fuck in his fed suit.  Their last good card’s been running perilously low and Dean is seriously going to crawl out of his fucking skin if they sleep in the car another night.

 

“You, uh,” Dean pitches his voice down, risking a glance off the road to look over at Sam.

 

“You still my boy, Sammy?”

 

Sam’s hand pauses under his.  The speakers pop with the bass line while Dad’s snoring in the backseat but all Dean can hear is the tight rush of air Sam breathes in.

 

Dean watches the blacktop slip under the car as Sam slides his hand around Dean’s wrist.  He keeps his eyes on the road but he wants to lean into it, suck those fingers off his skin and into his mouth.  Sam tugs at him, jerking the radio to another station before he draws Dean’s hand across to the passenger side.

 

Their eyes meet in the rear view and Sam looks like trouble.  Sam _is_ trouble, and not the kind you can end with a shotgun or some mumbled Latin.  Sam keeps him up at night and wakes him up in the morning with a mouth around his cock’s-crow hard on even if Dad’s sleeping in the same room. 

 

Sometimes he thinks Sam wants to get caught.

 

Even Sam hadn’t been reckless enough to try anything while they were taking turns sleeping in the backseat. Dad’s not at his best when they’re broke and he’s really not at his best when they’re tired.  He and Sam have been snapping at one another since Tuesday. Dean just aches all over.

 

He rolls his neck to the side, stretching his head towards the driver’s side window as Sam drags his hand into his lap.

 

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, teeth clenched down but his hand still unfurling where Sam presses it against his crotch. Sam hasn’t washed those jeans in a week and they haven’t had one pair of clean underwear between the two of them in four days.  Dad’s been bitching about goddamn teenagers all week but Dean loves the smell of Sam between his legs.

 

Dean bites his lip.

 

Sam presses down, grinding Dean’s hand against the seam of his jeans.  Sam’s legs are getting longer every day.  The whites of his ankles show as he spreads them, slouching down and sprawling out with his knee almost on the glove box. 

 

Sam’s got a semi already just from a few terrified fumbles of Dean’s hand.  Dean had spent most of fifteen with a boner, too.  Just cupping that familiar heft in his hand has Dean’s dick stirring right now, not that it would take much.  They’ve been washing up in a 7-11 restroom and even Dean couldn’t bring himself to jerk off there.

 

He shifts, wincing at the throb, and wills himself not to think about what part of Sam he’s coming in first.

 

It’s disconcerting to tripod his gaze between the road, Sam’s greedy little fuck-sprawl next to him, and Dad’s restful bitterness in the backseat.  Sometimes Dean really thinks through what their Dad would do, if he’d really kill Dean or worse, separate them. 

 

He’d die if anything happened to Dad but he’d kill anyone who tried to take Sam away from him.

 

Sam opens his fly despite Dean’s silent protest. That little hiss Sam makes gets Dean’s dick leaking jealous at the thought of springing free. He glares pointedly at the rear view but he still lets Sam guide his hand down, where Sam’s warm and skin-damp and so, so hard. 

 

“Put your sweatshirt on, Sammy, think it’s gettin’ chilly,” Dean whispers roughly, flaring his nostrils and nodding his chin at the heathered hoodie balled up at Sam’s side. 

 

“I’m toasty,” Sam whispers back, too sweet.

 

Dean gives his dick a squeeze just to seep some of that sweetness out of him.  Sam rolls his eyes and at least grabs the sweatshirt, not quite managing to cover them up.

 

Sam’s gonna fuck him up one day with risks like this.

 

Dean strokes up, along the long-memorized thickness of Sam’s cock.  Sam fucked him up a long time ago.

 

Dean doesn’t need to look to know how Sam likes it. The angle’s all wrong and his wrist’ll be bitching tonight but he still milks a clear-bright stream of precome out of Sam.  Sam’s skinny hips shift up into his hand, fucking against it like it’s Dean’s mouth. They both wish it was.

 

Bon Jovi rolls onto the radio, a band his father always loves to hate.  Sam’s gotta be smirking right now.

 

Dean risks a glance at Sam, every sloe-eyed, hip-buck inch of him, sneering pretty like jailbait and rolling his goddamn balls in the front seat.  Dad would put a gun to their heads if he pulled over and kissed that sneer off Sam’s face right now.

 

“Shit,” Sam huffs, the only warning Dean gets before his hand disappears into pilled fabric and Sam spurts into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

 

Little shithead’s clever when he wants to be.

 

Dean sucks the web of his thumb into his mouth without thinking.  It stinks like Sam and jizz and that cheap soap in the 7-11.  Dean sucks at his hand until he tastes salt.

 

Sam’s fly zips shut as Dean looks back at their Dad. He’s shifted in the backseat and his jacket’s not covering him any more.  Dean almost asks Sam to fix it when he feels Sam’s hand slide along his thigh.

 

“I’ll suck your dick,” Sam says, out loud, as if it’s not bad enough they’ve got a kangaroo pocket full of kid spunk riding shotgun with them. 

 

“Sam,” Dean barks, smacking Sam’s hand away and hating himself the second he does it.  He’s the one who taught Sam how to give head when they had a dozen pubes between the two of them. 

 

Sam glares at him, petulance creeping in and it shouldn’t look so pretty on him.  Dean wants to fuck his mouth and give him everything he could ever dream of wanting, spoil him and stuff him full all at once.

 

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says, raising his voice and looking in the rear view.

 

“Don’t want to wake Dad up.”

 

He cranks up the radio to blast Little Runaway, snorting as JBJ croons about Daddy’s girls.

 

“The fuck,” Dad mumbles, batting his jacket off. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, doing nothing to make them look less bloodshot and furious with the post-industrial landscape flying past them. 

 

“Pull over, Dean.  Gotta take a piss.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answers automatically, checking his mirror before he eases her onto the shoulder.

 

“And open the windows, it stinks in here.”

 

“It’s cold,” Sam snaps back, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes resolutely not on Dean.

 

“Then put your goddamn sweatshirt on, Sam.”

 

Dean rubs at an ache in his neck and closes his eyes.

 

~

 

Dean’s not even sure what they’re fighting about.

 

The can of soup he’s stirring got hot a long time ago. Corn chowder isn’t any of their favorites but Dean had picked up ten of them for a buck.  He scrapes the white film slowly creeping up the sides of the dinged-up pot, dragging a scorch-marked wooden spoon along the rim.

 

A door slams and he steels himself.

 

“You think I wouldn’t like to hang around the house and read books all day, Sam?”

 

Dad storms into the room and shrugs his jacket on in one angry swoop.  His scowl spreads out like a shadow over the afternoon light trickling into their second-floor kitchen.  Dad shoves a chair back under the table, adding a hundredth scratch to the flower-power linoleum floor.

 

Dean clicks the burner off and covers his soup.

 

“So I’m just supposed to stay here? While you and Dean are off chasing a fucking werewolf?”

 

“Watch your language, young man.”

 

Even Dean has to roll his eyes at that. Some soft, easy girl three schools ago had told him that her mom kept a swear jar where her dad had to stick a buck every time he cussed in front of the family.  They’d be fucking rich by now if they did that.

 

“It’s not fair!”

 

Sam’s chest heaves, so much wider than it was even six months ago.  He’s growing in fits and starts as fast as Dean can feed him.  His voice still sounds young when he’s angry.

 

Sam’s angry a lot.

 

“You want fair, Sam?  Go out and get a job, help put some food on the table like your brother does.  I don’t hear him bitching about doing what needs to get done.”

 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, hoping he can dwarf himself between the dueling forces of his father and brother’s anger. There’s not enough space for all three of them.

 

“Which is it, Dad, get a job or stay here and go to school while you two ditch me?”

 

Sam’s eyebrows are up under his bangs and he looks like he could spit acid. 

 

“Jesus, Sam.”

 

The car keys jangle when Dad snatches them off the table.

 

“Get more peace and quiet at a goddamn bar.”

 

Dad scrubs his hand over his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose.  His eyes are bloodshot when he looks over at the stove.

 

“Dean, pack up.  We’re on the road at six.”

 

Dean nods, keeping his lips pressed together.

 

“Maybe I should just drop out of school like Dean, huh?”  Sam laughs, bitter. It sounds ugly in his throat.

 

“GED’s good enough for him, right?”

 

“C’mon,” Dean mutters to no one in particular as he stares at the floor.  That soup’s getting cold again.

 

“You want to act like a child, Sam, you can go to bed without dinner.  That fair?”

 

A rush of wind races past Dad as he slams the door open, letting the world blow in across the concrete walkway that rings the second floor of rentals.  Dean’ll sweep up before they leave tomorrow.

 

“Fuck you!”

 

Sam charges back to their room before Dad can bang the door shut behind him.  One of them always has to win.

 

“I’ll be back in the morning.”

 

He won’t be in any state to drive by six but that’s fine.  It’ll give Dean something to do.

 

Dean abandons the safety of the kitchen with a last mournful glance at his scorched soup.  Sam must be starving by now.

 

Sam’s been hitting the clumsy end of a growth spurt, all those long limbs crashing into the too-small spaces he’s crammed into. Seeing him curled up kitten-balled on the bed makes Dean’s chest ache.

 

The springs creak when Dean sits down next to him.

 

“I hate him.”

 

Sam sniffles, a small kid-brother sound that Dean can’t answer.  There’s a liminal space where Dean both loves his father ardently and prays for him to never come back when he storms out of the house.  He can’t blame Sam any more than he can stand up for him.

 

“You can still eat dinner, you know.”

 

Dean creeps a hand over Sam’s hip, sliding his four fingers up and down the seam of Sam’s too-short jeans. 

 

“I’m so sick of corn, Dean.”

 

Sam sniffles again but Dean can hear the smile creeping into his voice. 

 

“I know, kiddo.  Me too.”

 

Dean scoots in a little closer, letting his hand tug softly at Sam’s hip.  Sam rolls over with a huff, losing his grip on his anger as Dean waggles his eyebrows.

 

“Finish all your dinner and I’ll give you something sweet for dessert.”

 

“Do you seriously think you’re smooth?” Sam snorts, a smile dragging across his lips.

 

“Smooth as corn chowder, Sammy.”

 

Sam downs two cans of chowder and four slices of toast while they watch TV on their ratty couch.  The cover might have been red at some point and a whole swathe of stuffing is held in with duct tape.  Dean doesn’t even feel bad about getting jizz on it at this point.

 

Dean closes his eyes and lets his arm fall lazy over Sam’s bony shoulders.  A few hearty crickets chirp through their cracked window and the air rolls in cool over his skin.  It smells like gas from the station that backs up against the parking lot.  They could be anywhere.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Sam whispers. The pout of his mouth drags against Dean’s skin as the laugh track to Friends echoes tinny from the old TV.

 

Dean kisses him, hard and cowardly with all the shit he just can’t say.  Sam lets him in, swayed by Dean’s tongue and his hands pawing up Sam’s flat, warm chest. Sam shouldn’t be so biddable but he slides onto Dean’s lap with barely any urging, those spider monkey legs splaying around Dean’s waist and holding him tight.

 

It strains him more than he cares to show when he picks Sam up.  He’s getting heavy but that’ll never keep Dean from carrying him.  Sam’s arms wrap reflex-tight around his neck and don’t let go until they hit Dean’s bed, falling in that big sort of jumble that knocks their breath out. The mattress is thin.

 

Dean kisses him out of his clothes, greedy for skin and the welcome salt lick of Sam’s body.  He knows that body, knows every place to nip and nuzzle until Sam’s blinking dizzy and his hair’s a mess. 

 

Sam’s still got a hickey purpling his left hipbone from two days ago.  Dean ghosts his mouth over it, teeth dragging soft enough to make Sam arch up for him, whining. He sees Sam in the bathroom sometimes, sees the splay of his fingers over the livid echoes of Dean’s mouth. Dean would mark him up everywhere if he could.

 

He gives Sam a fresh constellation of love bites until they’re both aching hard.  Sam whines in his throat when Dean noses down the slope of his hip, lips dragging against soft skin.  His breath is close enough to flutter over Sam’s dick when Sam inches back, scooting up on the bed.

 

“Not there.”

 

Sam rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face and arching his hips up.  He hikes one leg up at an angle, just enough to flash his hole at Dean and grind his dick into the mattress.

 

Dean’s on him quick, mouth watering at the pink slip of Sam’s asshole writhing for him.  He palms Sam’s ass, kneading hard enough to make Sam whimper.

 

“Want me to eat you out, Sammy?”

 

Sam whines, rolling back into Dean’s hands and squeezing himself until his hole fucking winks at Dean. 

 

Dean can suck dick, God knows. He can get Sam off in half the time it takes their Dad to shave.  He loves it, loves using every trick he’s learned from watching porn and petting at some pretty thing on her knees for him.  He can take Sam past his hammered-out gag reflex and keep him there as good as any girl Dean’s ever seen.  He hates the truck stop jokes about his mouth, not because it doesn’t look damn good giving head.  That’s just not its best use.

 

Dean’s mouth was made for _this_.  He lets his lips settle plush and hungry around Sam’s hole, dragging against puckered skin. He rolls his tongue, pushing out enough spit to drag slick across the little shudder of muscle, teasing the tip around in wet circles until Sam moans and bucks back onto him. Dean can suck dick pretty good but he can eat Sam’s ass until he cries.

 

Girls don’t do this kind of shit.

 

He digs his fingers into the meat of Sam’s ass, spreading him open as he noses in deeper.  This is the sweetest part of Sam, where he furls open for Dean and lets him in, relaxing against the probing wriggle of Dean’s tongue. He dips inside, deep as he can, just to feel Sam flex around him, needy for Dean and the things he can do to him.

 

Face in the pillows and his hands scrambling in the sheets, Sam’s just nerves and sighs as Dean licks him open. He draws his tongue out just to drag it fat and flat along the crack of Sam’s ass, sopping his chin and moaning into the sweet press of Sam back against him.  He does it until his jaw hurts, until he can feel the webbing of his tongue holding him back from getting deeper into Sam, like he could ever get deep enough. 

 

Sam’s cock leaks against the sheets, rubbed red and forgotten as Dean tongue fucks him until everything goes away. Dean strains against the ache in his jaw, giving himself a break to suck hungry at Sam’s hole before he plows back in.  Sam won’t shut up now, broken little noises puppy whimpered into those cheap, flat pillows, soft and sweet against the filthy wet sucks of Dean’s mouth and the writhe of his tongue into Sam’s body.  Dean’ll ache for this tomorrow, ache like his fuck sore jaw and his cock throbbing ignored between his legs, like his heart sick inside him that Sam’ll be sleeping alone in spit-soaked sheets come tomorrow night.

 

He can make Sam feel better now.

 

He gets his finger in easy wet and Sam groans, voice cracking over puberty as he asks for another.  He could fuck Sam’s ass easy now, slick up and slip inside and bury himself so deep Sam’d forget his last name.  Something about the good pain throb in his cock makes Dean slip another finger in, then a third, determined to see Sam come off on his hand while he suffers without that tight heat.  He’s the one who’s leaving.

 

He rests his cheek against Sam’s other cheek, that tight little ass that Dean’ll be jerking off to the first chance he gets. He bites just as he sinks three fingers spit slick and knuckle deep, making Sam arch and shoot his arms like he can’t figure out which way to go.  Like he can’t remember where he is.

 

“That’s it, Sammy.”

 

Sam doesn’t want him to be gentle, not now when he’s open and humping the bed and writhing back on Dean’s hand. Dean fucks him, slipping his pinky in just to hear the strangled sound Sam makes.  If Dean flipped him on his back he’d find his dick oozing. Sam gets wet like a girl down there and it makes Dean crazy, the way he drips hot when Dean gets up inside him, the way he can remember when nothing used to come out of there at all.

 

“Come for me.”

 

But Sam looks good on his belly, all those awkward limbs rigid and the muscles in his back jumping as he fucks back against Dean’s hand, taking his fingers the way he used to when Dean wouldn’t put his dick in him.  Dean’s wrist cramps as Sam shudders around him and won’t that be a bitch when he’s driving tomorrow.

 

He sinks his fingers deep when Sam comes, twisting to brush over Sam’s sweet spot until Sam screams into the mattress. He heaves for breath, back rising and falling while the shitty light from their bare bulb catches on his sweat. He’s beautiful.

 

“God, Sam.”

 

Dean crawls up beside him, his own cock screaming as it bobs between his legs.  Dean mouths along the sweet sweat of Sam’s shoulder and wraps a hand around himself, it won’t take long to get himself off and maybe he can do it while Sam’s still rippling around his fingers.

 

“Dean, don’t.”

 

Sam grunts as he hefts himself onto his back. His face is beet red, a crease from the sheets striping over his left cheekbone.  Sweat curls his hair into thick cords.

 

“Want you to use my mouth.”

 

He slurs a little, enough to get Dean to curse and spurt a fresh bead of precome out of his dick.

 

“You sure, you’re-”

 

“ _Dean_.”

 

Sam’s not graceful on the best of days lately and he pretty much topples off the bed, knobby knees hitting the floor and his dick limp and sticky between legs.  He stares up at Dean, a clump of bangs falling into his face.

 

“Please.”

 

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean mutters, not too graceful himself as he rolls over to the edge of the bed.  He plants his legs on either side of Sam, spreading them wide as Sam crowds into him. 

 

Sam’s hands curl over his thighs as he swallows Dean down, rough and quick with none of the teasing licks and bobs of his head Dean had taught him.  It’s dirty and needy and Dean isn’t gonna last too long, not when Sam’s taking him to the base and plucking at Dean’s wrist.  Fucking Sam. 

 

“Need it?”

 

Dean threads his fingers into Sam’s hair, tugging softly.  Sam moans around his dick, garbled and wet as his nose presses into Dean’s pubes. His breath would puff out in soft little huffs if he could breathe at all.

 

“Need me to fuck your mouth the way I fuck that pretty ass?”

 

Tightening his grip, Dean hauls him back just enough to draw in a shaky breath before he pushes Sam back down. Spit snakes down to tickle over his balls, wet and shameless as Sam’s throat works around him.

 

“Take care of you, baby,” Dean murmurs, circling his thumbs over the back of Sam’s head as he lets him work, sliding thick as his lips drag up and down, no teeth in sight because Dean had taught him good.

 

Sam doesn’t whip out any fancy tricks with his tongue, doesn’t reach down to tug soft on Dean’s balls the way he likes. He just hangs on, mouth hanging slack even when Dean pulls him all the way off just to see how fucked he looks, to drink in that dazed cross of his eyes.  His lips glisten candy store pink and so fucking wet, eyes barely focused as he moans for Dean’s dick back in his mouth. 

 

They toe around this shit, Sam’s cocksuck mouth just a wet hole for him right now, for Dean to use up and take care of, the kind of thing they can’t talk about when they’re seeing straight. Sam needs using when he’s like this and even worse Dean would do it all the time, see him ragdoll soft and pliant, open and eager to please like a good boy. 

 

Dean wants to fill him up until there’s nothing left sometimes.

 

He comes down Sam’s throat, holding him down to choke pretty around it because Sam knows to hold his breath.  He splutters and coughs when Dean lets him up, trying to swallow and spitting half of it out of his mouth on reflex where Dean’s hand is waiting ready.

 

“All of it.”

 

Dean tilts Sam’s face up, hand still in his hair. He cups his palm over Sam’s mouth, nodding as Sam licks at it without a moment’s hesitation.  Dean’s still shaking from his orgasm but it’s this blind trust as Sam laps at his hand that fucks him up the most.  Sam used to eat his applesauce like this, holding the bowl in front of his face and bypassing the spoon Dean always offered him.

 

Dean kisses him, tasting himself and the copper-suck fullness of Sam’s used mouth.  Sam’s lips are burning hot, chapped raw just like his voice’ll be when he finally speaks again.

 

He’ll be out of it for a while.

 

Dean folds him into bed, angling him away from the wet spot and wrapping him in the worn soft sheets.  He watches Sam sleep until he feels himself starting to drift off. He still has to pack and clean up before Dad stumbles back and hauls them away again.

 

If he’s lucky, they’ll be gone before Sam wakes up.

 

~

 

Dean’s never been so happy to leave his Dad with a bullet in him.

 

It’s just a flesh-wound, one more nasty scar on his bicep that Dean stitched up himself.  He’ll be fine.

 

He’d also sent Dean to pick Sam up and bring him to Duluth.  It’ll mean changing schools for Sam again but it also means he can milk out at least three days alone with him.

 

Dean grins as he races down 33.

 

It’s good to keep Sam on his toes sometimes. He can roll his eyes all he wants at Dad’s drills, but that won’t stop the things in the dark from bumping any more than it’ll stop Dean from killing them.  Once he gets through all his emo kid crap Sam’ll be a great hunter.

 

Dean wriggles out of his boots at the front door, carrying them inside along with his duffel.  His heart thuds in his chest, skipping with that kid’s game excitement of sneaking up on his brother, wrestling until one of them wound up on top. Getting Sam against his bare skin has been the prize as long as he can remember.

 

He pads across the living room, smiling cocky as he dodges the creaky linoleum tiles by the table.   It’s nearing midnight but Sam should still be awake. A splinter of light leaks out from their bedroom, cutting a bright trail that Dean creeps toward silently.

 

He’s already kind of hard when he presses himself against the doorframe and angles his head to peer inside. He almost loses the game and groans out loud when his eyes focus on the bed.

 

Sam’s ass-up and wriggling for Dean to see, thighs spread wide as he circles his hips and moans.  Two of his fingers disappear into his ass, awkward and fumbling as Sam holds his weight across his chest.  Dean catches the back-end of his knuckles as he strokes himself, those long, head-twist strokes that mean he’s been at it for a while. Dean could slip right behind him, bat his hands aside and make him feel so, so good.  Dean licks his lips and softly presses the pads of his fingers to the door, opening it silently.

 

“ _Daddy, please, daddy_.”

 

Dean freezes, foot in mid air. Sam chooses that moment to shift his weight, turning a pillow-pinked cheek to the other side as he moans and wriggles back onto his hand.  His lips pout open like he’s going to say it again before he blinks.  His eyes widen as he catches sight of Dean and yelps.

 

“What the fuck, Dean?!”

 

Sam thrashes, rolling onto his back with his dick waving hello while Dean stares.

 

“What’re you doing here, is everything ok, are you ok, what’s-”

 

“Sam, are you,” Dean pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a second because his brain just doesn’t want to catch up.

 

“Are you jerking off and thinking about _Dad_?”

 

Sam looks genuinely horrified, which, yeah, Dean gets it.  It’s horrifying, like Dean has any right to scoff at keeping it in the family. 

 

“I heard you, Sam.”

 

Dean’s body unsticks itself as his chest starts to crush in around him.  Even more horrifying than Sam getting all Electra complex is how sickeningly, crushingly jealous Dean feels.

 

“No, I wasn’t,” Sam says, pitiful. He looks like a kicked dog with a hard-on.

 

“What, then?”  Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Some dude you met?  What, some older guy caught your eye, Sammy?”

 

Dean’s crap at sounding mean to Sam even when he’s not swallowing down a mouthful of panic and bile.  He doesn’t care about girls, not really, but the thought of Sam touching himself, sticking his fingers where Dean gets to touch him and thinking about some other guy, God.

 

“What the fuck,” Dean mutters, sinking down onto the bed only because it’s closer than the floor.  He’d made Sam like this and been stupid enough to think it would stay that way forever.

 

“Dean, no.  Oh my God no.”

 

Sam at least has the sense to shove a pillow into his lap before he slides over to Dean.

 

“I’m not, shit,” he huffs, folding his arms and bending down until he’s talking right into his pillow.

 

“I was thinking about you.”

 

Dean’s mouth can’t quite catch up with his brain for a few seconds.  He opens and closes his mouth, stringing together Daddy and Dean and Dean and Daddy until he looks down at Sam.

 

“You wanna call me Daddy?”

 

“Oh my God, shut up,” Sam whines into his pillow, squirming away from Dean’s hand.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

He risks a glance up at Dean, eyebrows scrunched together.

 

“Can we just act like it didn’t happen?”

 

Dean shrugs.

 

“I guess.”

 

Sam’s the one who always wants to talk about things. Sam with that overactive brain and that big, angry heart inside him. 

 

“We, uh, we got a few days to ourselves, though.”

 

Dean slings an arm around Sam, letting his fingers press into Sam’s warm skin.  He’s pinked all over, from the bed-press into his knees to the tips of his ears. God, he must have been worked up.

 

“Dad’s waiting for us back in Duluth. I told him it’d take a few days to pull you out of school and stuff, maybe a week.”

 

They both know it’ll take a day at most. Sam’s still hugging his pillow but he turns his cheek to Dean, slanting his eyes up.

 

“A week?”

 

Dean nods, licking his lips.

 

“Yeah, Dad wasn’t really asking too many questions. He’s laid up, just a slug to his shoulder from some pissed off werewolf girlfriend, but he’ll be fine.”

 

“Good,” Sam mumbles, hunching down over his pillow. Sam doesn’t really hate Dad, not in his heart.  Sam probably couldn’t wish death on anything.

 

“Missed you.”

 

Dean pulls him in, taking Sam and his pillow into one big, sprawly bundle onto his lap.  He noses behind Sam’s ear, breathing in the smell of him.

 

“Missed you, too.”

 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Dean teases softly, letting his lips drag against the soft skin behind Sam’s ear. 

 

“Thinkin’ about me with your fingers up your ass, Sammy?”

 

Sam hums, squirming back.  Dean’s still got three shirts on while Sam’s naked back presses against him.  It makes Sam look even smaller, all that baby tan skin balled up in his lap, knees and elbows bending bony like his skeleton’s gonna burst out of him and leave him a man one day when neither of them expect it. 

 

“So fucking hot, baby,” Dean mumbles, sucking Sam’s earlobe between his teeth because it makes Sam shiver and reach up to throw his arms back around Dean’s neck.  Dean knocks that ratty-ass pillow off his lap, looking down the flat expanse of Sam’s chest and groaning.  Sam’s still hard.

 

“Want you,” Sam moans, and Dean’s cock throbs at the truth of it.  He tucks one hand under the slope of Sam’s chin and turns his head, angling it up so he can kiss into that wet, warm mouth, lips trembling just for Dean. 

 

“I know, baby boy.”

 

Only Sam would brush his teeth before he crawls into bed to fuck himself on his hand and moan Dean’s name, moaning for his _Daddy_ into the empty night. Dean kisses the store-brand toothpaste gleam out of his mouth, licking greedy when Sam lets him in. 

 

“What do you need me to do to that little hole, Sammy?”

 

Dean gets a hand around Sam’s dick, just taking the heft of it in his palm, squeezing hard enough to feel that phantom throb between his own legs.

 

“You want my fingers?”

 

He strokes his hand down, letting his fingers trail over Sam’s balls.  Sam just spreads his legs, wriggling down against Dean’s cock.

 

“You want my mouth on you?”

 

Dean splays his palm over Sam’s thigh, leaving his cock to bob in the empty air.  Sam huffs as Dean rolls them over, landing Sam on his back with his legs spreading open before Dean can even crawl between them.  Dean’s heart pounds as he strips out of his overshirt and tugs his fly open one-handed, eyes never leaving Sam. 

 

Hissing as his cock strains against the Y of his boxer briefs, Dean hikes his jeans down just enough to let the bulge of his hard-on clear his zipper.  Sam watches, looking half-fucked already, hair in his face and his long legs splaying apart to let Dean between them.  Sam fucking whimpers when Dean grinds his cock against Sam’s ass, precome from Dean’s dick and Sam’s own spit still leaking wet from him to stain the dark gray cotton black.

 

“Need me to fuck you, Sammy?”

 

Dean circles his hips, one layer of fabric separating them as he lays his weight on Sam and kisses him, presses the air right out of him in one long, needy sigh.  Sam’s arms curl around him, pulling him closer like he needs Dean’s cock more than he needs to breathe. 

 

“Yes, yes,” Sam moans, to all of it, greedy the way Dean’s spoiled him to be.  Sam’s fingers curl into Dean’s undershirt, the way they used to when Dean picked him up to kiss him better.  Dean kisses down the curve of Sam’s jaw, groaning as Sam arches his neck, baring it for Dean to scrape his teeth and mark him up.    It’ll fade enough before they get back to Dad, like he’ll even notice.

 

Sam’s making sounds that slip down Dean’s belly like a hand on his nuts, knuckling over him as Dean angles up and lets their cocks grind together.  Dean’s hand itches to cover his mouth, so used to the hushed up grind of their bodies together when Dad was asleep a yard away and Sam’s little dick used to jerk dry against his own.

 

Dad’s not here right now.

 

Dean sucks a wet bruise onto Sam’s neck, rolling salt sweat skin between his teeth until Sam’s moaning loud enough for anyone to hear, not that Dean would let anyone else hear him like this. Sam doesn’t need anyone else to do this to him, not when Dean can tug his hair back and lick hot into Sam’s mouth, pry him open and seep into all the tight, dark places inside Sam that are the sweetest.

 

“Yeah, Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

 

Sam stills, eyes saucering somewhere between panic and pleading.

 

“Dean, don’t,” he shakes his head.

 

“S’not funny.”

 

“Shhh, don’t worry, baby.”

 

Dean’s stomach flips with the sick-thrill twist of Sam under him, eyes wide and fragile for all that boy-growth muscle threatening in around the edges.  Sam’s his boy, Sam’s his needy, good boy and Dean’ll take care of him till the day he dies.

 

“You gonna be good for Daddy?”

 

Sam just nods, that perfect, cocksuck mouth hanging open.  Dean smooths his bangs back, cupping Sam’s cheek and grinding hard against him just to savor the shocked huff of Sam’s breath.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows, the way he does when Sam needs to the do the dishes or stop being such a bitch in the car and Sam whines in his throat. 

 

“Yes, yes, oh.” Sam arches, body writhing under Dean.

 

“Yes Daddy.”

 

Sam goes rigid, lips mouthing _Oh God Oh God_ as Dean feels wet heat spill between them.

 

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean grunts, curling his back so he can look down at Sam’s come smeared against his stomach.  It soaks into his undershirt as another line of it pulses out of Sam’s dick.

 

Dean hefts himself onto one arm and pulls his cock out of his underwear, letting the elastic land under his balls.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, come all over yourself for Daddy, so easy aren’t you baby?”

 

Dean swipes a fat fingerful of come and smears it down his cock, stroking rough and this won’t take long. 

 

“Want Daddy to come on you, Sammy, dirty boy for me?”

 

“Do it, do it,” Sam chants, always so fucking pretty after he comes, face open and flushed.  One of his dimples creases in as he smiles lopsided up at Dean and that’s it, Dean comes quick and hot onto Sam’s bare chest.  He’s still spurting over his hand when Sam drags his fingers through it, rubbing it in circles until it sinks into his skin, like they do when they don’t have a spare towel or tshirt to clean up the mess in the backseat.

 

“Jesus.”

 

Dean slumps onto his side, wrapping Sam against his chest.  Sam’s breath puffs against his heart, a warm O against his undershirt. 

 

“Did you, um,” Sam mumbles against him, drawing in a staggered breath before he looks up at Dean.

 

“You don’t have to, I mean, if you don’t like it.”

 

Sam bites his lip.

 

Dean just kisses him, because sometimes Sam is right and they just shouldn’t talk about it.

 

~

 

There’s no use getting Sam up for school the next morning.  They’ve got at least five days before Dad starts calling and Dean intends to make the most of them.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

 

Dean’s always up first.

 

Sam grumbles and sniffs a few times before he looks over at the alarm clock, his eyes going wide.

 

“I’m gonna be, oh _gross_.”

 

He sits up, scratching over his belly and wrinkling his nose.  Dried jizz always itches like hell. 

 

“I can take you to school if you want.”

 

Dean shrugs, flipping the covers back. Sam’s never happy about waking up but his dick sure is.

 

“Or we could stay here.”

 

Dean kneels on the bed, dipping the mattress as he pushes Sam to lay back down.  Sam’s eyes are extra-slanty when he’s half-awake, and that lazy smile scrunches them almost shut.

 

He sucks Sam off while the bed creaks and Sam’s hand laces into his.  Dean swallows, like he always does, eyes on Sam as his breath hitches and he spills over Dean’s tongue.

 

“Breakfast of champions,” Sam giggles, sleepy and silly with their usual morning BJ joke.

 

“Why do you think you’re getting so damn tall?”

 

Dean slides up next to him, palming over his own half-hard dick through his boxers. 

 

“You want me to?”  Sam licks his lips, wriggling his eyebrows like a dork.

 

“Naw, that can wait.”

 

Dean pulls him in, kissing morning breath and Sam’s own spunk tinge together.  They’re used to it.  Sam cuddles against him, sweet today.  He’s always sweet when they can steal some time alone.  Dean tips his head, resting his cheek against Sam’s hair.  His sweet boy.

 

“Now why don’t you be a good boy and go make Daddy some coffee?”

 

Sam looks up, knocking Dean’s head off him.

 

Dean just nods, tracking the race of emotions across Sam’s face from defensive to nervous to wide-eyed want.

 

“Ok.”

 

Sam shrugs on some clothes and pads into the kitchen, smiling at Dean over his shoulder.

 

This is gonna be a good week.

 

~

 

Sam makes him coffee but Dean still makes breakfast, just some eggs and toast.  Sam wolfs it all down, quiet for once as he watches Dean. 

 

When Sam’s plate is empty Dean hooks his foot under a rung of Sam’s chair, pulling him in.  The legs skid a little over the floor but Dean’s still strong enough to drag him close.

 

“Go take a shower while I clean up.”

 

Sam nods, pushing himself up until Dean darts a hand out to cup under his jaw, fixing Sam with a stern look.

 

“Yes, Daddy.”  Sam smiles, shy, soft, sweet, all those slippery things that only Dean can squeeze out of him.

 

Dean’s dick twitches.  Sam’s _Yessirs_ to their father are miserable, mumbled things, but Sam answers Dean like his borrowed name is coated in honey.

 

Sam takes his time in the shower and Dean has everything tidy by the time Sam finds him waiting on the bed, naked as the day he was born.  Sam’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, the faded yellow fabric looking dull against his steam-pink skin.

 

“Took you long enough.”

 

Dean scoots until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs splayed open in invitation.  Sam slots between them, fiddling with the edge of his towel.

 

“I, um,” Sam folds his lips together, looking down.

 

Dean unfolds Sam’s fingers from his towel, watching the blush flare across his face.  The towel falls to the floor and Dean’s mouth falls open.

 

Sam’s shaved bare.  All the downy curls around his dick are gone, leaving nothing but smooth skin that Dean needs his mouth on now.

 

“Do you,” Sam fidgets as Dean stares.

 

“Do you like it, Daddy?”

 

Dean tries to answer but he just moans on his first try.  He slides his hand over Sam’s hip to graze his thumb down the freshly-shaved skin by Sam’s soft, pretty cock.

 

“God, you’re fucking perfect.”

 

Dean runs his hand down to cup Sam’s balls, tugging softly at the smooth, warm weight of them.

 

“Did you do it everywhere?”

 

Sam nods, eyes fluttering as Dean toys with his balls.

 

“Think Daddy should give you a special treat for that.”

 

The word still feels strange in his mouth but Sam doesn’t.  Sam follows him onto the bed, straddling Dean’s waist and moaning into his mouth as Dean’s fingers slip over his smooth, tight hole.

 

“Jesus, Sammy.”

 

Dean lays back, urging Sam to turn around and face his feet.

 

“Show Daddy your hole.”

 

Sam makes a noise deep in his throat as he bends over, fingers digging into his cheeks as he pulls himself open. Sam’s asshole is pink and pretty, smooth skin furling in around it.

 

“Sammy.”

 

Dean wets his thumb in his mouth just to smear it across Sam’s hole and see it flutter for him.  Sam chases it back, impatient as always.

 

“Get up here.”

 

Sam looks back at him, eyes half-shut as he groans and inches up Dean’s chest.  His legs are so smooth under Dean’s fingers.  Dean should keep him like this all the time.

 

With one hand hooked over the sharp curve of Sam’s hip he hauls Sam back, until his asshole ghosts right over Dean’s lips. Dean breathes, hot and wet, just to treat himself to the little shivers that run over Sam’s bare skin.

 

This is Dean’s favorite way to do this, with Sam’s weight roiling on top of him, Sam’s ass grinding down on his face until he can drown in his brother.  Sam can be awkward as a colt sometimes but he can ride Dean’s tongue like every inch of his new-sprung height was made for it.  Dean loves to watch him move but sometimes it’s nice just to feel, to close his eyes and taste Sam all over him, fuck his tongue up into all that wriggling need and hum his happiness there. 

 

He drags his hands along the slope of Sam’s hips, digging his fingernails in wherever he pleases.  Sam won’t mind the marks. 

 

Sam opens sweet for him, the tight flex inside him giving way as Dean dips inside deep, nosing up open-mouthed and chin wet. He skates blindly along Sam’s body, tugging over the splay of his thighs and tickling along the rungs of his ribs, grabbing everything he can get before he finally gets his hand on Sam’s cock.

 

Sam’s jerking off, weight balanced on one hand as he see-saws himself between Dean’s mouth and the white-knuckle grip of his hand.  Dean bats it away, circling his hand around Sam’s wrists and pulling back just as he drags his teeth teasing sharp along the spit-wet pout of Sam’s hole.

 

It’s not an easy angle for Sam, arms wrenched behind him, wrists crossed under Dean’s bruise-grip tug.  Dean used to be able to get both their dicks in one hand easy, but he’s happy to settle for Sam’s wrists in the clasp of his hand.

 

Sam whines, half frustration and all kinds of desperate as Dean chuckles against the blood heat of his tongue-fucked hole.

 

Sam’s “Daddy, please,” goes right to Dean’s dick, each throat-strung syllable sinking into him and coiling in his belly like a gut-punch.  Sam always gets him twisted up inside.

 

With his hand still around Sam’s wrist and the other digging mean into his waist, Dean plows him face-first onto the bed. He springs up quick enough to go dizzy, head spinning a little but not enough to loosen his grip as Sam moans and squirms.

 

Dean pops the lube open with his teeth. Like that experiment with the dogs and the bell, Sam spreads his legs immediately, thighs hiking apart as he ruts against the bed and shows himself to Dean.  He tosses his head back, blowing his hair out of his face and giving Dean a look he’d kill anyone else to see.  Sam can beg for it without saying a word. 

 

It’s still nice to hear him.

 

“S’matter, Sammy, my mouth ain’t good enough for you?”

 

Dean knees in between his legs, pushing them wider before he drizzles a slick line of lube straight onto Sam’s hole.

 

“Need more, don’t you?”

 

Dean barely has to move his fingers with the way Sam arches back for him, circling his hips until Dean’s index and middle fingers line up just right.  There’s ugly words for boys like Sam, cocksluts and whores and things Dean’ll never say out loud, not when Sam looks back at him so beautiful.  Dean made him like this but at least he looks good doing it.

 

“Yes, Daddy, need it.”

 

Sam gets his angle just right and sinks back onto Dean’s fingers, taking them easy to fuck himself in little circles and huff his displeasure that they’re not something bigger.  Dean slips two more in, tight and fast, fucking Sam hard and daring himself to say it.

 

“You want Daddy’s cock?”

 

That noise Sam makes sucks any lingering self-consciousness right out of Dean’s skin.  He’s gotten Sam off in nearly every contiguous state in the nation and he has never, ever heard Sam sound like this.

 

Sam’s fever-hot inside, slipping tight as Dean presses into him bare.  Dean braces one hand on the bed and guides himself in with the other, pressing the flat of his thumb against the slight up-curve of his dick as he sinks into Sam. It still makes Dean shudder all over when he bottoms out, the way Sam draws out one long, tight breath, the way his fingers curl into the sheets while Dean buries himself deep.

 

Sam flips his head to the other side, turning his pressed-pink cheek to Dean.  A swathe of hair sticks to his face, wet at the tips and fuck, Sam’s been drooling just from Dean’s fingers.  His lips part, flushed to their full candy apple shade.  Sam likes to crack self-deprecating jokes about himself all the time but Dean never laughs at them.  Sam’s so fucking pretty.  Sam’s too fucking pretty.

 

Suddenly jealous of the air between them, Dean lays his full weight down on Sam’s back.  Their skin catches sticky warm, sweet sweat slipping against him as Dean curls himself over Sam’s skinny, splayed-out body.  He can’t fuck Sam hard like this but he can get deep, rolling his hips as Sam’s lower back curls up for him and Sam whines it out into the mattress.

 

“ _Daddy_.”

 

Dean’s dick jolts and he flushes, caught off-guard by how fucking dirty Sam sounds saying it.  His dirty boy, shaved clean all over just for him.  Dean hooks a hand under Sam’s knee, pushing against smooth skin to hike Sam’s leg up.

 

“So fucking good for me, Sammy.”

 

Dean brushes away Sam’s spit-stuck hair and kisses along the warm slip of his cheekbone.  Sam’s all angles and awkward bends when he’s folding himself into the car but he sinks boneless and soft under Dean.  Even when he folds his neck back to kiss Dean it’s natural, that long neck arching back for Dean to catch the side of his lips and lick into him.

 

“Take it so good for Daddy.”

 

Their bodies slap wet together as Sam answers him with soft, slack jawed grunts.  Sam bucks and fights against everything in their life but he surrenders completely to Dean, pliant beneath him as Dean fucks him with steady, deep rocks of his hips.

 

There’s a whole world outside this shitty apartment, with new schools and old monsters and their father’s flesh knitting back together four states away, all of it circling in and heading straight towards them. The bed creaks under them, old springs screaming like they have in a dozen beds before and will in hundreds after, but right now it’s enough to stave off the world outside. Each deep thrust of Dean’s hips narrows the universe down until there’s nothing but Sam falling to pieces beneath him, safe in their temporary home where Dean’s in charge of everything and all Sam has to do is say his name.

 

“Daddy, please.”

 

Dean comes hard, too strung out to say anything that would make sense to anyone except them.  Sam knows what he means.

 

Dean collapses onto his side, rolling Sam with him and grimacing as he slips out of Sam’s body.  He’d stay inside him all night if he could.

 

Sam snuggles up against him, tugging Dean’s arms around him and pulling his wrist down so Dean can feel how hard he is.

 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Dean kisses along his neck, grinning as he wraps his hand around Sam’s dick.

 

Dean has all week to play house and he plans to make the most of it.

 

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

 

THE END


End file.
